


The East of Elysium

by HopeisNope4



Series: The Design of The Known Universe [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Death, Earn Your Happy Ending, F/M, Fantasy, Gods, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Plague, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 20:14:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20588420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeisNope4/pseuds/HopeisNope4
Summary: Perhaps when she was young she wandered the woods alone when her mother told her to go out and play. Perhaps when she was small she had tripped and hit her head against a rock or a log. Perhaps she remembers when she was young that a man had found her and carried her home. Perhaps she remembers him being tall and dark with a terrifying voice. Powerful, dangerous handsPerhaps he remembers her. Perhaps he will find her again when she becomes lost in the dark.





	1. Negation

Were you aware there was a time when the Gods were bowed down to? There once was an age of which men cowered before the hands of the Guardians and their masterful creators. And they found these men to be of great interest. They were curious, hopeful, creative. It was all that separated them from the beasts of Demera’s wilderness. The God of the deep wood, her word was all that kept these lords certain that the human species was beyond that of dogs. 

It was quite entertaining, for the first thousand years. Zachres plagued them, Arropher drew fear upon them with unknowable knowledge, Helios scorched their skin with the fire of day. Narasion swallowed them whole under the icy waters of a western sea. The Diae, as they were called, would come down onto the plane of man, performing their acts of strange and bestial significance.   
And the men feared them. 

They built temples, shrines, all in order to earn the favor of Zachres. There was never a king that ruled with more anger. And when taking a physical form, the enactments were horrifying.   
But years passed. Then hundreds. Fear dwindled as the men organized themselves. They built grand cities and ornate houses of court. They clothed themselves in robes and broke bread when they became hungry. And the Gods grew bored. Stoic as they were, their new, quiet nature became something... doubted. The growing will of men blossomed this doubt into the garden of skeptical people. Although, the superstitious would always remain.

And once there was a young girl. Her name was Calatha. It is not known why Calatha never doubted. Perhaps, one day, something happened to her.  
Perhaps when she was young she wandered the woods alone when her mother told her to leave the house. What a pest she must have been. Perhaps while in the woods, when she was small she had tripped and hit her head against a rock or a log. Perhaps she remembers when she was young that a man had found her and carried her home. Perhaps she remembers him being tall and dark under the night sky with a terrifying voice. Powerful, dangerous hands.

Perhaps he remembers her.

But perhaps none of this happened and she was caught in an illusion. She thought of it often and wondered deeply. But she dared not utter a word to another living soul about it. For whenever anyone had gone out telling stories sounding like that of blasphemy, they were turned into another creature entirely. One with the tongue of a snake, the heart of a demon.

They became a possessed, evil, creature full of greed. They became somehow less than human and a disease to the frightened. But they only changed within the eyes of those who held fear closer than their families. Such was the way of the people that lived upon the Unnum. Such was the life of the people of Astreya. 

I wiped the sweat from my brow, a dirt sodden hand spreading its filth where it may. The season of sun was already upon us. The 12th day of the third period; this meant working the fields. Dry heat. The first vegetables of the season. And after many long hours of labor, I was in dire need of a bath. Ha, as if we could afford such a luxury. A tub. 

My eyes left my opposing hand that held a large, round tabo plant, ripe and ready for soup or baked over fire. Now, my gaze fell upon a young boy, fumbling alongside me with a small string that came loose from a blanket. The little heathen was so destructive. He was eight years old, my brother, however fortunate (or otherwise) that might have been. Edwin liked to do as he pleased and act as he wished. I supposed that was how he ought to be at eight years of age. 

However, this rattled my grandmother at the worst of times. She was far ahead of both of us in the field now, her experience overcoming any age that may have downplayed her skill. She was no nonsense. It got to be tedious, her hovering and quipping tone. Although, I suppose that was how she ought to be as well. 

I sighed, took another deep breath, and realized that Edwin was staring at me. He did so often. He was a little boy. However, if I made note of such he would become rather cross so I usually kept that opinion to myself. He rather liked the fact that he was 8 years old. He didn't like that I was sixteen though. He became jealous and cross at that as well. I took a deep breath and reached down once more for another long, green stem. 

"What are you thinking of?"  
He asked without looking in my direction. He was still transfixed by that damned string,

"What makes you think I'm thinking of anything?"  
He shrugged, losing curiosity after the conversation became too complex for his little mind.

"Can we go down to the river soon? It's too hot."  
I rolled my eyes,

"You haven't even been helping."

"Grandmother said I could have a break!"  
Defensive. He looked down, clearly disappointed from the way his freckled nose crinkled. I sighed again, this time in defeat.

"We won't have time. The sun is already getting low... But perhaps if you were to help with the rest of this row,"  
His eyes perked up at this, instantaneous satisfaction. 

Edwin bent down, balancing on the balls of his feet. He sank into the dirt, as boys tend to do. Gods, how I hated the season of sun. 

It was like a war, the endless dance between the sun and I. A treacherous game. Hailus’ rays were borne from his crown of fire, a gift from Graidar. Or so the legends told. And while he flew across the sky, not a tree for miles to end his reign, I was left wondering. How long before my skin began to blister, red and scalded? Even with my skin on the darker side. Edwin, all the more. 

We were of the working class and this factor would become much more like a stain on a white tunic once we entered the city gates. We were fast approaching, my brother and I. It had been a full day walk to Sydnac, it’s high walls filled with people just as guarded. My feet hurt now. And my limbs. My eyes strained under the bright light of day. 

There were many huts, stands, and tables set against the road we walked. Colorful blankets and the smell of freshly baked pita. The scent hit me like a rock in the pit of my stomach. Glorious and unfair because I only brought what money I would need. I felt around inside of my pocket. Five coins. Two pits and three pons. 5 and a half total currency. Never room for what I wanted. How pitiful it made me feel as I lead my brother past the stone structure. Perhaps if I had a father, a mother, or anyone of able body and age, we would have money. Suddenly I felt ungrateful. My grandmother was not at fault simply for being of old age. But is it really so thankless to wish not for hunger? 

That was why we were here in the first place, wasn't it? My uncle lived here and the two of us had been sent to visit with him, request his aid. We needed him, not only because he was family, but because he owned a bank. He very well was able to aid us. But who was to say he would aid us in the first place? There was a history that I knew of but not well enough to grasp fully. My uncle wanted security and money. My grandfather wanted consistency. It was something of that nature. Uncle Trent eventually was unwilling to deal with the incessant insulting nature of our family. So now, Grandmother told us to appeal to his better nature, if he had one, and remind him that Edwin and I were the children of his brother. We had no ties to history or the quarrels between our ancestors. He had to do us some kind of sparing action. 

We were at the entrance now. The watchman came and took our tole, glaring at us all the while. Two pons. No more, I promised myself. Even if he demanded it of me. I knew the rules. They kept me safe. I felt eyes on me from behind and from either side. I was safe... that’s what I had to tell myself anyway. 

We walked away from the large building. The house of my uncle had to be 5 times the size of our own. Failure was evident in our posture, had anyone cared enough to pay attention to a pair of impoverished children. Uncle Trent was gone when we arrived, traveled to the kingdom of Kyver to the north on business. We had missed him by a day. His wife, however, was there. Neither of us had ever laid eyes on her. The wedding was small, informal, and hadn’t involved a single family member. She did not know us and did not care to. I dared not ask for a place to stay for the night, despite Edwin’s clear fatigue. He had begun to whine incessantly at the most moderate of inconveniences. 

We would be staying at an inn, the smallest and cheapest we could find, likely on a floor. I detested the idea, fully aware of the fine downy beds Trent’s wife held from us. But it would be safer than the darkness of an ally. There were strange people in all directions. I remembered earlier, passing the temple of Arropher, there had been an old man sitting on the steps, clothes far more ragged than our own. But what he did lord over us was a small basket of Eliavs, green and salty. And it wasn’t all that much but it was more food than either Edwin or I had eaten the entire day. I had felt his eyes, mocking me wordlessly. 

Again, I felt pitiful. Lords, we were a mess. What would grandmother think? Knowing we had wasted an entire day of harvest? We had gone because she had been ill, hardly able to work herself. We would starve. No, that was far too cynical for my taste. The Gods would provide. We both needed them sorely. I followed, prayed and knew of them well. They couldn’t possibly-

“Calatha?”  
I heard the name called like a distant drone as if I had forgotten it belonged to me in the first place,

“Are you- Are you alright?”  
I awoke from my thoughts, registering the name as my own, and looking to Edwin at attention. I realized then how tired he truly was, and I was weighing him down with my strange behavior and staring into nothing.

My thoughts were devouring me once again,

“Yes,”  
I walked forward so that I was very close to him and placed my palms on either side of his soft face,  
“How would you like a bowl of stew?”

The morning, I told myself, would be better. It was. The two of us shared a bowl of fish and snake plant in a thin broth before bed. At night, a woman had allowed us to sleep on mats in the back room of her inn. And eventually, Hailus brought the day to us once again. We trod forward, on less heavy feet this time. I watched as Edwin sat down to re-lace his sandals. The poor boy. If only he had a mother to chastise him and keep his hands clean. No manners, only that which grandmother and I had taught him.

Forward we marched through the thick crowds, gaggles of middle-aged women, and swerved away from dark men with clearly dark intentions. They sat on the outskirts of brothels, bars, and other such places. I was afraid of them, that I knew. But we were safe. We had done no harm... Until we passed again the Temple of Arropher. I heard it before I saw it, or anticipated what was to come. 

The old man from the day before shouted, arms raised to the heavens. He babbled in tongues, no longer sitting idle.

“Lord of healing! Lord of wisdom! Give these people piece! REDEEM them for they know not the power you maintain! Mat-eh lakiune ae roht phorae Rakaen Noriae a ae Simakar voniae phor Zachres! Arropher phorae Diae!”

He spoke to the Gods in his deranged voice, calling out to those who passed. They stared at him, passing judgment, some likely plotting a way to rid the world of his upheaval. So strange, he was. But Edwin, for whatever reason, took offense to this with anger parallel to the strangers around us. Before I knew what to do, or even had processed what he was about to do, I watched as the old man’s head jerked in pain. A rock of fair weight skidded beside him. It was speckled now with the same blood that flowed from the man’s temple. 

The old urchin held his hands now above his face, still mumbling his words. My head whipped around to look for the one that had done such a thing. Edwin stood there with a now pale pink face and clenched teeth. His eyes were fixed solely on that man. And then, as if giving the action no mind, the mangy urchin stood and let out a single, strange laugh. He rolled up the sleeve of one arm and pointed a crooked finger at Ewin. It was an arm scrawled with ornate tattoos. The transcribed word of the Gods. This man was a priest of the temple, however mad he may be. The traditional garbs that typically would have covered him head to toe were absent. 

But I paid it no heed. It was inconsequential compared to the newly pending reality. What truly piqued my interest was the pungent scent of sin that now made my brother a target. For he had committed an atrocity. To harm a priest- not even accounting which God the priest was an ambassador of- was a sin beyond any I had seen committed with my own eyes. And assuming that this priest was a priest of Arropher, nothing good was to come.

“Oh, but this pars your servant finds ulterdiae! Yena entius mae ae rou-ge roht phorae Hastar Noriae...” 

The significance struck me yet again. The language he spoke in was the old tongue, Fila Pars. I did not speak fluently but I knew enough to recognize boy, no, and wrath. It was enough to instill fear. And worse still was the name forbidden in most places, a spiritual taboo. I dared not even conceive the name within my mind in fear of the Guardian of annihilation, Hastar. This was it. 

Zachres would kill him. Edwin would die. 

I took his hand. We needed to get away, far away as we could. My mind was scattered. So I pushed through the crowds of gawking people, their eyes watching with little of anything to say. I, on the other hand, could have written a book of the thoughts I had now become consumed by.   
“Calatha!”

“Hold your tongue, Edwin!”  
The anger in my voice of a caliber far surpassing what I meant it to be. I was furious. 

“Why would you- how could you..?! What in Thanatos’ name were you thinking! Ignorant child!”  
We rounded a corner where I stopped him and gripped his shoulders. 

“What does it matter? The Gods do not exist. If Graidar watched over us we would not be hungry! Our father would not have been-”  
He stopped, seeing the look of warning I gave him. I let go of him. Without another word, I turned away shaking my head, anxiety washing over me.

My Father had been plagued by Zachres when I was a little girl. My mother, taken after giving birth to Edwin. The boy knew nothing. He knew not what it was like to forget the sound of the voices of those you loved. But I remembered the blood, still. It seemed strange, the memory of them. It was a foggy thing, so far away and unable to be touched. They were dead and time had made it coarse, difficult to understand. I tried to imagine my brother dying, attempted to conceive his absence. I found myself unable. And still, it made my veins pulse. Why must he torture me?

It was still very bright when we arrived at our home. The season of sun allowed for many more hours of light as Hailus worked to tie down the dragon of Agraki. This would soon be in the hands of Matariel, the grand storm. I remember explaining the story to Edwin when he was very young. He believed in me then. He believed in Lords and Guardians and the Angles that guided us.

It was during our evening meal that I was no longer able to keep my thoughts to myself. They weighed me down like a sack of snake flower. Grandmother had set the dining flat for the day end meal. It was a long folding board, rounded on the corners, and unpolished. There were three grey tray mats, each decorated with a bowl of malt. It was hot, creamy, and bland. A bowl of pita bread sat in the center and we took our fill. It was simple. It was ours. Grandmother chatted to us idly, asking about our trip. We said nothing of Uncle Trent. She didn’t ask but moved on as if nothing had occurred. The elders of Astreya were maternal in the barest sense. Comfort was something foreign. Games of passive aggression were common. 

So I dealt with her the only way I knew: blatant avoidance,  
“Interesting?”

I responded to her question. I glanced at Edwin, considering my opportunity,

“I suppose,”  
My voice was perhaps a bit past snarky,

“If you consider Edwin’s acts of disrespect, engaging.”

This made her eyes widen immediately, shocked and ready to pounce on my brother who had become quite pale. He gave me a snarly face with clenched teeth. He sprang from his cross-legged position to his knees and put both palms on the table,

“Calatha, you back slayer! How dare you!”

“Enough!”  
Grandmother demanded furiously,

“What in Zachres name have you done? If I find out it is you that is the cause of failure-”

“I did no such thing!”

“Then what exactly works your sister into such a fit?”

I interjected,  
“He insulted a priest of Arropher; threw a rock that bled his scalp!”

There was an awkward silence. I was angry. 

“Won’t you say anything? We are going to be killed! Zachres will strike us down-”

“Oh, you pitiful child,”  
I bit my tongue at her words, afraid of the retort I may have given had I not,

“What a beastly thing to grief me with. I am old. My heart does not need anguish over fables from long ago. Pftt... Arropher! Zachres! More embedded in reality is the mind of your uncle! None at all,”  
Her words made my heart spring in my chest. Grandmother was apathetic and cold. Edwin was angry, radiating bitterness. We ate in silence then on. I remember that night all too well. It left me wondering, wishing I could have- would have fixed it or found a way to save them. If I had the correct words to sway them I would have demanded it. I remember the next morning all the more. It left me without a measure of love in the world. 

My throat felt dry- no, my entire chest felt dry. Inside it was tight and more painful with every movement. The air came and went from my lungs but the burning remained as if I were drowning. Oh, what joy it would have been to be swimming, bathing in the river with all of my thoughts, the body of Narasion surrounding me, clear and cool. 

But I was not now at the River East of my village. I was on the road that ran from the slopes of Mount Duma to the rabble and sprawl of Kyver. The capital of Astreya was a week and a half by cart, and half a day by train. I was walking so It was going to take me a long while, I was sure, maybe even my entire life. Not that I cared anymore. The walking wasn’t all that unpleasant. Although once in a while giant gusts of wind would flood the land and throw dust in the air. It got in my eyes, on my skin, and clouded the sky. Though, it was not too cold, not too hot. 

But these things did not change the reality of why I was walking in the first place. The morning had come and the wrath of the Diae along with it. The Gods were not fond of insults, this I had come to suspect. It was only when I awoke to my brother crying with chest heaving in the grass outside our home that I realized it was over. My mind had blanked as I watched his body, covered in red patches, clench and release as the contents of his stomach spilled onto the ground. He was sweaty, shaking, and had been struck with the curse of the Angel Simakar, sent by Zachres. He would last hours more, perhaps less. Edwin’s eyes became empty in my arms and I prayed. I prayed that Demera would send her birds to guide his soul. His sense of direction was typically misguided.

Oh, Gods, I was to live in a world where he was void. It was all I could bring my focus to. 

It was later in the day, hours after his passing when I heard the rest of my fortune. I was still cradling him in my arms, empty like some kind of sick doll. A man came to me and announced that Grandmother had been trampled by a horse cart, her head caved in. I yelled and I cried. But in memory, all sound had dissipated. A dull drone of nothingness. And I decided that there was nothing left for me. Because there was not. The leaseman of our land would hear of her death and he would come for his final payment before I was evicted. I was left with nothing. 

Now it was tomorrow. I was walking down a dirt road, through the lower valley. A part of me felt choked, anxious being out in such an open area. I hadn’t seen a single person in many hours, although I did occasionally pass small huts and snake grass farms. I found it difficult to leave my home, though I didn’t have much of a choice. I had spent those last hours contemplating what I would do with myself. Food? Clean water? Somewhere to sleep? Sleep... Sleep sounded nice. No, I had to keep walking. My journey had only just begun. Kyver was waiting for me.


	2. Rage

My feet hurt. They had increasingly so over the last 3 days. It had been 2 days since I had seen signs along my path, directing me towards the capital. And now I could see it off in the far distance. It was a grand wall, made tiny by my perspective so far away. They surrounded a land filled will buildings and peaked over it’s top. I had never seen anything so tall as the temple of Zachres. It was a painful reminder of my circumstances.

Although, almost everything at this point was a reminder of my circumstance, from the skipping stones of a stream to the junip berries I scrounged out of bushes. 

By midday, I had reached a town outside of the city. I was burning with curiosity. Much of my life I had wondered if perhaps I might one day be able to visit such a place. Just not like this. But that didn’t matter. I needed direction, something to ground me. If I didn’t it felt very well possible that I would fade away. I hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words in days. They were days that dropped past me so quickly they became lost amidst my grief. I stopped the closest person I could find. She was a woman with dark curly hair, as most of my people were, dark skin and pale eyes. She was in a group, gathered around a well.

“Excuse me,”  
She looked over me, looming like a Cardac cat, contemplating how I might taste,  
“What is the date?”  
She looked over at those she traveled with, friends, laughing without making an empirical sound. Eventually, she looked back. Eventually. There was no trace of emotion in her voice. God, I felt pitiful.   
“It is Wind, 1-21 of year 242.”

She walked away after that. The twenty-first day of the first period. The season of wind. I had been walking for almost 3 weeks. Gods, how had I lost track of time so easily? I was 17 now. My birthday had been the ninth. 

It brought my thoughts to Edwin. He would have been jealous. I began to cry. Grandmother had promised to buy me the poncho I had been looking at in the market for my birthday. The one made of fine, dyed yida wool. I wondered if she would have kept her word. Of course, she would have. She’s my grandmother. Was my grandmother. I cried harder. 

I entered the city. The crowds were loud and impersonal compared to those of my home.  
People looked on with stony faces and reddened eyes. They were tired. My people, the ones I had thought to be strong, were so broken. All of my life I had imagined coming to Kyver, discovering its life, power, and wonder. I had been wrong. At least, these are what my initial thoughts were. But as I walked forward I experienced a slow gradient. As I neared the center of this giant machine, each individual acting as a kind of cog, the poverty lessened. The quality of the residence grew and grew. And I knew this because of the smell.

When I first entered the gates I was smacked by the stench of unwashed bodies and excrement. As I walked on I noticed carts, drains along the roadsides that funneled a variety of foreign waste towards the outer walls. This ended near these walls, where it piled. And it was up to those living there to dispose of it, gods knew where. The places that were not broken and abused were clean, filled with businesses, banks, and guards. The guards of Kyver were known for being the most well trained and the most dedicated. They were nightly, as guards should be. But they did not wander the areas toward the walls. They were likely just as afraid as I. Watching the greatest evils I had conceived, it was a lining of misfortune. 

Another delineating factor between the lower and upper classes was the men who tossed women between each other, groping, playing as if with a simple object. It was in the worst parts of the city and when they were done a handful of coins were given to the women for their services. It made me feel sick. I promised myself, the souls of my loved ones that I would never be reduced to such a place. 

I was going to make something here, anything at all. I believed that, at first… Until a man held a knife to my back. He snatched the coin purse from my hand and took the pons and pacs from my pocket. I thought I might cry when I realized that I had shed enough for the rest of a lifetime. So I simply continued forward. The guardsmen wouldn’t care. I would never see my money again. I would need to find work as soon as I could. If not, perhaps someone kind enough to house me for the night. But did such kindness exist in a place so hellish? As Helios fell low in the sky, my belief in such things dwindled. I could no longer trust them  
It was cold here at night. The season of sun was over so I, in my cheap linen, skin, and bones, begged of the gods to spare me. I cried again. There was nothing I could do.

Weeks passed. I found work seeding flax plants. I was replaced within the next couple days by a mother with children. I stayed on the streets in the dark, between boxes and barrels. When my money ran out I begged. And I felt pitiful. There was nothing left to do or see. No one wanted to meet me or tend to me. But the temple was always there. Zachres’ statue stood tall over me like the rest of the buildings in the foggy sky. Only, it’s eyes felt trained on me, mocking my dirt ridden body. Other girls would pass me in the streets in robes of tree cotton and on their feet, fine leather boots up to their shins. I would look up to Zachres, knowing that it was likely vein, and beg. I begged until my tears were gone and then soon my voice as well. It was a good month before I fell at the feet of the brothel. I was told that I would not be touched, only serve food and their glasses of cheap wine. In return, they would allow me to sleep on the floor in the cellar. And I was told that I was allowed to say no but the men watched me, I knew. And if one ever decided to approach, would someone, anyone, care if I were to deny him? I was never given the answer to this question.  
Because one of these nights, as I went out the back door to drain a waste tub, one of them followed behind. There was no one there to care if I denied him. The ally was empty and the only one to bear witness was Zachres and a pair of lifeless eyes. The gods did not stop the man. Not when it was over. And not when a knife came to slit my throat. 

Finally, peace. How beautiful it was, the stream of nothing apart from the red pulse of light through my eyelids. But wait... If I were dead, would not my void be empty? Was I now a spirit forced to walk the aether among the Gods? What a terrifying idea. I had decided that no such beings were worth my attention. Perhaps it was now that I too paid for this rebellion. However, I did not resent the Gods in the way of my family. I wouldn’t be sent to the fields of punishment, as they were. So the most likely conclusion was that I had been sent into the heavens. 

I couldn’t hide forever. Well, I could but my curious nature got the better of me. I opened my eyes.

Gods, the light was violent as an overly bright singular source poured over me. My body- or rather the consciousness of my body- came back to me. Limbs and face and hair. My eyes clenched back tightly as I adjusted and muffled voices began to clarify around the room. 

Through the foggy eyes I now possessed, I was able to make out two figures that stood over me. They were so tall and so terrifying. And as my vision cleared, their faces did as well. Their eyes were not the eyes of men. The one closest, clearest, had eyes that seemed to be on fire, omitting their own light. I wanted to stare at them, to touch them and know if their purity was what I felt it to be in my gut. My chest. My throat… Oh Gods, my neck! I lifted my weightless hand and grazed over the place I had been cut through. But there was a thin bandage that obscured my ability to feel for my injury, stop the blood. But there was no blood, I found. My hand remained clean. 

I was clean and I could feel it all over. It was like a weight that had been removed from my body. The sweat after weeks of walking had been rinsed out of my pits and off of my face. The dirt that accumulated on my arms and legs and between my toes had been washed. The hands of the soiled man and their rough touch no longer bruised my neck and left their oils. I was no longer surrounded by fear. I was saved… Was that the word to use? I did not know those who stood over me or their intentions. I was not living a life of dignity or the fresh beauty of before I came to be here. My grandmother was gone. My brother… He was no longer with me. Could I still call it being saved if it was not my true desire? 

The two men spoke muffled and calm in low voices. I realized I my body was shaking and I couldn’t tell if it was shivering or fear. I was alive, lying in a bed, under the care of whoever had held off my death. Who was I to fear? Then the one to my left glanced down and it became very clear who I was afraid of. 

He stared at me with a piercing gaze. Then I realized his eyes were fogged over like flower threw into a bowl of water. He was blind. All the blind I had met were very old or injured. He was neither. From what little I could tell he was strong and spoke with the confidence of an educated man,

“I will not keep you here, it was not my intention to kidnap you... but should you leave on your own, you will return to dust.” 

I realized he was speaking to me, however, the conversation would have to be very one-sided. My lips were dry and my body was strangely numb. Tired. Not necessarily in a painful way as when my feet fell asleep, but not present. My sentience felt foggy, unresponsive to what I was experiencing. I closed my eyes, hearing but not possessing the strength to listen,

“You’re body has not fully healed. Beyond these walls, I am unable to heal you, ArleaTae.”

My exhaustion pulled me into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.

I awoke to the sound of whispers that seemed to waft through the air in a peculiar way. It was as if little voices were being cautiously brought to my ear in hopes that I would awaken. The strangeness of it all was my first thought. A slight jostle of fear. I curled into the blanket I had been given as if a sheet of fabric would protect me from all of the world’s evils. But after what I had so far experienced any kind of security was appreciated. Eventually, once again, I became curious. It was my most dangerous trait, after all. So I stood and tested the door to my room, finding it unlocked. Outside was a long hall and directly across, a set of stairs. Step by step I made my way down and over, down and over. The spiral stairs sloped at 90-degree angles that were long and thin. I held my breath. It was unnerving as there was no banister to be found and the polished wood was as slick as expected under my thin soles. They were worn down so deep I was certain it was only a matter of time before they filled with holes. I had worked them day after day. 

Those shoes had begun their adventure long ago, perhaps 8 years (far too large for me at the time), when my grandfather had bought the thin laced leather. Every morning I would leave my sleeping matt, dress and head for the field to aid grandmother with my father’s crop. Before leaving I would hastily pull on these boots, not thinking much of their tattered state. But now, at the bottom of the stairs where the wood transitioned to sheer marble, I very much acknowledged the problem. The whole building seemed to be made impossibly of the slick materially. Heavy, cold, and white. Just like him. Oh god, and his eyes. His terrifying, pale eyes, hidden under a layer of milky white. 

I tried not to think about it,

Deciding I would rather not humiliate myself further, I sat on the last step and removed my poor looking shoes. Broken, cracked and stained, they reminded me of myself. Pitiful. I left them next to the stairs, not really caring about if I would see them again. Padding forward, I came upon a long hall with a high ceiling that at the end, broke away to the main entrance. A piece of me simply wished to walk down to that door, try to survive on my own. But the words he spoke in his velvet voice lingered in my mind,

“I will not keep you here, it was not my intention to kidnap you...” 

If he was feeling any kind of emotion it was shown solely through a brief pause, no more,

“Beyond these walls, I am unable to heal you, ArleaTae.”

ArleaTae? What was ArleaTae? It was of a language I vaguely understood. Perhaps a significant name attached to those who stumbled upon a god? Perhaps it referred to my mortality. Maybe he would tell me. The mere thought of speaking to him, even to ask such a menial question, was quite scary. He was blind, this I knew, but it was as if he saw through me rather than not seeing me at all. As if another world was clear beyond this simple sight instead of the defective darkness I had assumed. But his gaze cried denial at my presumptions. 

I rounded a corner. There, it opened to a small quart yard. It was bare to the elements to the west and gated by ornate columns to the north and south. At the center was a pool, thin and filled with clean water. I wondered how it had remained so utterly pure. Blemish-less and free of any green spots that would typically come to be over time. My reflection showed, so simple. My hair was beaded, pulled back into braid far too clean compared to when done by my own hands. my dusky hair was smooth. It was the only feature I truly loved in myself.

For my skin was speckled with blemishes, markings of Hailus after weeks under a hot sun. It was olive, unlike the smooth porcelain of the patricians, high headed with cold glares. If only I were able to look that intense, that high of worth in any stretch of the word. But the skin surrounding my eyes was dark, pink and brown quite enough so that they looked bruised and tired. My teeth were not exceptionally white and my eyes were the simplest shade of golden brown. No different than the rest of my family. No better than the hundreds of farmers in my kingdom, exhausting themselves til death. 

But it mattered little now. For all I knew, I would be dead quite soon as well.  
just as the rest, my father before me.

Looking back to the quartyard, I noticed a tree. It was positively filled with figs and I immediately became suspicious. Was it perhaps luring me? It certainly felt so as my stomach growled in anticipation. I walked forward, in spite of my doubts, and reached for one hanging on a low branch. A kind of voice whispered to me from beyond: Eat it and you will be healed. I listened. It was the sweetest fruit I had ever tasted, more honeyed than any nectre. It was not of the Unnum, my soul said to me. It was not something I was worthy of. 

I went back into the grand building with its ancient aura and marble sculpting. It was then that I found myself traveling down a darker hallway. The dim, windowless place was lit only by torches that lined the walls. And down it, carved statues of winged lions sat silent, though if one had decided to emerge from it’s inanimate state and let out an angry roar it would not have surprised me. They were so completely detailed, magnificent to the point that I feared getting too close. I did not wish to disrupt their slumber. 

At the end of the hall was a pair of wooden doors, waiting for me with my cautious steps. It was slow that I curled my fingers gently around the brass handle and pulled tentatively. It was heavy, much heavier than I had imagined. Light flooded all of my depraved senses. 

The warmth of the light met my taut skin. Immediately the sweet air filled my lungs and made me feel utmostly alive. But most of all it blinded me. For a single, arduous moment my eyes were scalded under brilliant white. It created what felt like a silent atmosphere around me though after a couple of seconds the harsh intensity had faded. The saturation of the outside world came too like a melting sheet of ice. Everything ran together, then suddenly shapes appeared. Sounds. I heard the gentle pulse of the wind. 

And suddenly, there was a garden. 

It wasn’t a garden in the usual sense. It wasn’t truly comparable to any flower fence I had ever seen as it was not trim nor was it void of weeds. But it could only truly be described as a garden due to its recurring variety of species and their placement, their magnitude of beauty. There was a pattern amidst the blur of green, gold, and lavender. Lilac trees bordered bushes of junip and Myrtle. Growing in between these carefully placed plants were smaller ones, budding with small flowers. In the center was an olive tree, bearing it’s fruit although it was the beginning of winter. A path of cobblestone surrounded it, making it seem captured, fenced in. Beyond this path were various breeds of flowering bush, Ivy and vine-covered statues depicting winged soldiers. There were three facing in cardinal directions. All apart from the East.

It was to the east that an archway stood, open as the only door to the outside world. Although, all visible was the sky. I wondered if perhaps, it was anything like the gardens of the dead. It certainly seemed like some sort of paradise, how I dreamed of Elysium to be. 

Surrounding the circular area was a staircase leading to a kind of pedestal that wrapped around. Tall pillars formed a circle, holding up the circular over-heading. It was like a coliseum, an amphitheater, of sorts. And covering the top of this Strange kind of room was a large dome made of perhaps 3 or so dozen slabs of glass. It sealed us off from the rest of the world. It created a closed in atmosphere as if even the sky was on its own separate plane. The outside world had no value here. It was only that which was green, marbled quartz, and a single figure cloaked in maroon robes. It was him, the voice. The man stood next to a stone bench underneath the tree. He himself looked to the East, staring into the void. Again, so much as if he could see far beyond my, or any other mortal comprehension. How marvelous a thought.

I stepped closer. He paid me no heed.

Upon his head was perched a golden band of olive branches. Had I not been so close, I would have thought it to be merely a crown, but closer now I saw it to be so finely detailed. It was as if Midis himself had picked up the wreath and transformed it. Because something of such intricacy could not possibly be formed by human hands. This was daemonic. 

And so was the mask that covered the lower half of his face. It as well was gold in color, ornate, and formed around his features to near perfection. It was strange how this mere object made him so much more difficult to recognize as a human. It was as if he were a different being, warped into someone- something- completely different than when I first encountered him. He made no move to greet me, not a single glance to vaguely acknowledge my existence.   
So I stood in silence. 

I soaked in the beauty and the air and the sun. And eventually, ever so slowly, he raised his hand and motioned for me to come near. He must have heard my careful steps.

I trod forward. 

“Closer,”  
His voice was deep and accented. It was like no voice I had ever heard in the short years I had lived.  
“Sit.”  
The man commanded. And though his voice was blunt, his movement was gentle like a cloud as he gestured to the bench. So I sat, doing only as told. 

“You are curious. Mortals don’t tend to wander off when brought to my home and given the gift of a warm bed.”

The muffled tone scared me. I sank in on myself, silent. 

When I remained void of speech longer than due of reply, he turned as if to gaze upon me. Odd and delivering of fear. This was the first moment it came to me: he does not seem of the Unnum because he is not of my world. He is of the heavens. There was no mortal with such stature and no man of such a perfect structure. And he reminded me so much of the building we stood under. He was marble and mysterious and too perfect to truly exist. Combined, it all made his intimidation a beast of its own. Could he have been..? No. No Lord had been seen by a human in hundreds of years. 

“I retract the disposition I spoke in. Was it perhaps rude?”

I glanced at him, only for a second as I was still scared to speak. 

he tutted, lifting his hand once more to take my chin between his thumb and knuckle,

“ArleaTae? Are you perhaps afraid?”

I wondered if I was shaking.

“Why would I harm you now,”  
He noted,

“If it was I who last saved your soul?” 

I swallowed and then opened my mouth slowly to speak. 

“Where is this place?”  
I wanted to not seem pathetic. I wished for my words to be eager, confident. My speech was far from,

“What happened to- to me? There was another... man. His eyes, they were of light... purity.”

The man smirked at my apparent naivety. It was handsome. He paused and looked at me tentatively, trying to make some sort of decision,  
“Arropher send an Angel to guide your healing. In this realm, you are healed. And, we are now in the palace of the Eastern Wind.” 

I swallowed again before speaking,  
“And you are he? Euros of the east? An-”

The last part fell from my lips. An Angel, I had meant to say. And my legs trembled, weak under the weight of my conception. Yes, if he did not see my fear before he certainly knew now. An immortal, one revered and more powerful than I could conceive. 

There was a brief pause,  
“I am but a simple druid. In your mortal tongue, you might call me Anatoli.” 

I nodded, a cold embarrassment striking me. Of course not. I didn’t even know if I was capable of gazing upon a God. I had no way of knowing. In fact, I knew almost nothing. I understood so little about where I was, who this druid was, and how much longer I would be safe. The list of questions continued in a seemingly endless manner, even with my father’s knowledge of the Diae. My knees were so weak. 

“That name, it is very, ah, human,”

His lips spread and turned up sharply, finding something like humor in my words. No, it was not human. I watched as he stood before providing an answer,

“No, it is not my true name. But I’m afraid that in its concentrated form it would be too difficult for the mortal mind to comprehend,”

He paused and gestured forward so that I might walk alongside him,

“I hope that does not... bother you. I do not wish for your discomfort.”

It seemed to be more of a question than a statement due to his tone and I suddenly became very self-conscious of my expression. I prayed silently that I had not offended him and worked quickly to seem as neutral as possible,

“Not in the slightest.”

We continued to walk forward and he lead me out of the garden. Down the hall of lions and to the right, away from the direction, I had come originally. We came to a new hallway, much larger with two doors before us that towered over my head. He held up a straight hand, gesturing for me to stay. Or at least, that’s what I assumed. He knocked on the thick wood and it was soon after opened.

Another human- or perhaps not quite- stood meekly in the doorway. They were genderless, much smaller than Anatoli, and six wings, three pairs, adorned their body. Two pairs upon the back and one from the ankles. Peculiar and overwhelming was the only word that met me. Although, not much more peculiar than everything I had encountered thus far. Anatoli then looked to me, ignoring the eager creature. 

“This one will guide you and assist you forward. For now, there are matters I must attend to."

I knew not how to respond. I wanted to cry, again. I was overwhelmed and there was no way in all of existence that he could not tell. But he did not react. It reminded me of how I came to be here, Zachres in all of their glory. No one cared for my suffering but myself and It made me angry. So I bit in aggression,

“You won’t answer my questions? I suppose then you’ll rip me from the gentle caress of death only to abandon me.”

His lip twitched and for a moment I was almost afraid. I didn’t regret what I had said. I meant it. 

“You speak of which you do not understand. For it was The Angel Euros who saved you.”


	3. Palter

My words were so childish, I realized later on. There was little use fighting someone who had no place in what was done to me. The doing that haunted me. 

The creature I had been introduced to, I found, spoke my language, but could make noise no louder than a whisper. It’s name was Pholero and it was a spirit of the wind, graceful but not in the way that Anitoli was graceful. Although, he was far more informative. He answered the endless questions that tore and my anxiousness, disquieting my soul in a place I had yet to adjust to. They told me how this palace was of the Aether, of spirits and the Diae. I told him the stories I knew myself, told to me when I was young. But never did either of us speak of Anatoli. When I brought it up he ignored me. I wondered why. I supposed Pholero would tell me what he thought I was ready to know. On my first night they guided me to my room and I dressed in the night robes that appeared upon my bed. Never until then had I possessed such a confort. 

Despite the commodities, I found it difficult to sleep. Rest of the Aether was strange. The feeling of drowsiness became a melting, as if my body were merging back into the universe. For all I knew, this was the truth. The Unnum was far off and it’s nature: lost to me. 

I would dream every night, whispers from the void. Demons trying to decieve me with cries for aid, agony, nothingness. The souls of my mother, father, and grandmother calling out to me. They asked for salvation, an end to the void, peace. However, these were falsities and I knew because grandfather had warned me of the demons of the unconscious. There was a voice though, one in the back of my mind that not only cursed me at night but followed my heart into the light of day. 

It was he voice of Edwin, tears and chokes of loneliness. He spoke with a composition unlike this others. Asked me where I was, why he was alone. He told me he had felt my soul slip from the Unnum. Then, ripped away. And I told him that I did not know. I reached out to him, through the darkness but there was nothing. He was the nothing I should have been myself. Then I would awaken, wet eyes and stuffy nose, crying. Always softly crying. That is, until Pholero came to take me away. They brought me to the garden. Somehow, it made me feel that much closer to Edwin. It must have been the flowers. They reminded me of the ones that lined the river. And this was the way it was every day that I awoke. 

Then, on one of those beautiful mornings in the garden, I was joined by Anatoli, he who was ignorant of my dreams. He came beside Pholero and I as we watered the Junip bushes which bloomed lovely and blue. The Diae stood next to me, silent and watching like a great harpy, perching overhead. He reminded me of those birds, their gripping claws and silent wings, graceful. Beautiful. However, despite the similarities, I had never looked back and found a bird to smile at me. And at this point I realized, he was much more than a bird. He was growing fond of me. 

It reminded me of a couple days previous when I had walked down from my room and discovered a visitor. This stranger spoke in PhilaPars with a kind of energy that reminded me of Edwin. It reminded me of the dreams I had of him. I turned my thoughts from such negativity. The intruder resembled Anatoli in most physical ways, perhaps more square but just as handsome. I wondered how they could not be Diae themselves. 

“Tan pars! Qaiur narhin kurenhu qena ma te etoriun. Qaenae etorius?”

My brother and morning were the words I managed to catch,

“Raeht pars, nae qaiur pas ulterdaeius. Mae Arleaius aberi yena eton qen.”

My head spun under the quick speech as I attempted to vaguely understand what was being said. Needless to say, my attempt was fruitless,

“Mae etorius porae Unnum a baq ilah ae phila porae Astreya.”

Something of Astreya. Perhaps if I asked Pholero, would they mind teaching me more? So I felt like I belonged, if only for a moment? For now, I gave up. Anatoli then greeted me, announcing that he would not take much longer. He turned back to the other (assumably) druid who now spoke to the both of us in fluent Astreyan. Mostly of menial things. However, one thing the brother said, in particular, stood out in the back of my mind. 

“What is it Anatoli? You’ve not seemed so at ease in a thousand Astreyan years. You smile so.” 

Those were the words of the man I was introduced to as Auster. He spoke sincerely, although Anatoli did not seem entertained by his mirthfulness. But why would he say such a thing in jest? Anatoli always smiled. Perhaps sometimes stoic, but never angry. Even when I was, myself. 

But now, I was curious and for once he was answering my questions. I decided to take advantage of this at the soonest opportunity. Eventually, Auster announced his departure. He placed a hand on my head, palm to forehead, fingers over my crown, in an assertion of demanded respect. It was customary between a youth and their elder to engage in an act upon greeting and bidding. And I wondered how he knew of our way. 

Anatoli told me later that its origin went far deeper than a shallow human custom. At dinner, he would explain that in the old world the Gods would walk the Unnum and we, mere ants would allow them access to our souls. And the face was the most tender part of that soul. I wondered what it was like, how terrifying to be touched by a God. 

“Anatoli,”

He looked down at me without the sight to do so,

“Why is it you call me ArleaTae? You are aware that is not my name?”

His smile cracked gracefully over his features once more.

“Yes, I am well aware it is not,”  
He knelt down on a single knee so that he might meet my gaze in a more comfortable manner,  
“It is from the language of your ancestors, the one you know as the old Tongue is known to the Aether as Brother Tongue.”

“Yes I know this, but Anatoli, what does it mean?”

He swallowed,  
“Its meaning is flower,”

A hand reached up to graze the side of my face,  
“Beautiful flower…”

It was a lie, I knew. Firstly because I could see it in his eyes. Who knew one might see the soul through the eyes of a druid as in that of a man? A blind man, at that. Then, because the word for flower was indeed Tae but the word for beautiful was not that as he implied. Infact, there were many words that mean beautiful, each with its own complexity. I was unable to remember exactly but Arlea was not one of them. Why would he lie about such a thing?

So I frowned, subconsciously letting him know that I knew he was not truthful. If he understood he did not make it known. He avoided many things that I did not understand. But I knew the truth. It upset him to know that eventually, I would leave. Someday I would be returned to the Unnum. I spoke to him of it one day during dinner. It did not please him. 

The evening meal always went about the same. After working in the garden I would go to my room and bathe in a tub, anoint myself with the fine oils that I found at my disposal, and dress myself in a fine robe of tree cotton. Somehow, it never ceased to make me feel rather lovely. 

Anatoli would knock on my door, ask if I was ready and more often than not I wasn’t. He was impatient, I found. An odd trait for an immortal. Though he never pestered me about it. We would walk past the many arches, statues, and large windows until eventually we came to the dinning hall. Every day the doors would be opened and I was met with a long hall, vaulted ceilings, and a large hearth against the backmost wall. Today was no different. Before me was a feast and hundreds of hundreds of winged people. As I walked past them it became clear that none of them had full voices. They whispered amongst themselves, soft and poetic, in a language I only vaguely understood. Reaching my seat, he pulled it back for me. And once he was certain I was comfortable, he sorted himself. Then the tediosity of small talk set in. I did my best to accept this reality. But eventually, my boredom got the better of me. 

I spoke his name with a certain hesitance, afraid that asking questions might provoke something unknown,

“I wanted to know, when will my body be healed? It isn’t that I am... uncomfortable but-”

His face had turned quickly from contented to direct worry. He cut me off with a knowing voice,

“What troubles you then?”

I forced myself to inhale,  
“It is simply that I have been here for quite a length of time and mortal bodies heal at a fair pace.”

“If it is your wish, I will return you at his moment. Is that what you desire?”

My eyes widened,  
“No! Do not mistake my curiosity for ingratitude. All I ask is why you keep me longer than due?”

His lips thinned into a line and he was quite. He let my question sink in, or at least I assumed so. 

He was silent for a long moment only moving to sip his Karde wine, dark and heavily scented. The whole room seemed to be perfumed by the stuff, enhancing the other sounds and smells and flavors of what littered the table. Bowls of baked tabo plant with palk sauce, cheese, and bread were all accessible. Honey rolls, something I had rarely even seen with my own eyes. They were things I had never been able to indulge in myself. I felt so spoiled biting into the sweet nectres I had taken as my own. The bowl of yida stew suddenly disquieted me. I was undeserving, yet here I was questioning the one who had given it all to me.

I felt poorly. He could see it on my face and it stimulated his delayed response,

“It is difficult to explain the complexity of the soul to someone mortal, young, nieve... But I will explain the best I am able: The soul does not heal in the way of the body. And I will not return a broken wheel to a wagon only for it to fall out from under me. For if the spoak is not in the same condition the action will have been in vain.” 

It took me a moment to process his metaphor. There were some things that were simply beyond me. There was still little I understood. So I nodded and tried to gain back my hunger. I felt ignorant. Irritated at my own ungratefulness. I only wished that Anatoli would not feel the same contempt I felt inwardly. The spirits chatted in their whispy voices, mindless towards the discussion that I now tried to lighten. So I turned to Pholero who sat across from me and spoke to the spirits of the Unnum. Anatoli listened, all the while with a curious gaze. Their accents were much like his but thinner, just as elegant. He seemed less upset, thereout, and joined our conversation. The Astreyan language fell of his tongue much easier than the spirits, 

“It seems you have been made well aware of the history of the world. Do tell me, have you heard the tale of The Dragon and my master, Euros?”  
I nodded meekly, as I did most things,  
“Indeed but it was many years ago when my grandfather was still alive. He was certain to give me all he was able before he died. It was my father’s last wish once cursed with the red death…”

I realized I was rambling and he was watching with a kind of entertained composition. 

“Perhaps you might tell me the story yourself? I’m curious, of what manner the mortals speak of... the Diae and the old way.”

Trying to remember seemed like such a task compared to on the Unnum. I gave myself a moment to bring it back, give it the same body as when we were children, Edwin and I. I remember telling him the story myself. It went like so,

“Amidst the infinite, there was a great dragon whose body was the son of the Angel of Annihilation.”

Pholero squinted at me, struggling to process my language. I gave him a moment and continued,

“His power was vast as his soul and all he touched turned to ashes, burned into nothing. And the kind father of creation, Griadar objected. He longed for the pulse of life to cultivate in the earthen soil. So one night, while the great Agraky slept, Griadar turned the dragon into the crown of Helios-”  
Oh wait. I realized then that I was telling the wrong story. Noting this, Anatoli simply smiled and waved for me to continue. 

“My apologies… Many millenia past, following the birth of the Notran, Boream, Zarach, and Euros, An incident tore apart the aether. It was the Season of Wind, while Astraemus guided Helios and guarded the crown. The four children were charged with aiding their lord. On this year, however, The angels of deception and chaos had been released from the cages of Zachres. Sathes, ah, tricked Euros into leaving his post and- um…”

I had lost my train of thought and looked to the Druid left of me. He shook his head and proceeded in my place,

“It wasn’t quite like that. Sathes disguised himself as a nymph and told the Angel that his brothers were in danger. Fearing for their sake he left his post so that it became open to Salethiel, chaos. He ripped the crown from the head of Helios and threw it down upon the Unnum. And as Griadar assured, it returned to the form of a The Great Dragon.”

His confidence never ceased to draw me in. I wondered how often Anatoli had heard the story or if perhaps he had been there himself?

“Some spoke and others believed that Euros had been idle, that he cared not for the fate of Griadar. And those who believed this allowed the influence of Sathes. It was utter blasphemy, I assure you.”

At this point, his tone had become much less informative than irritated, dark and bitter as an eliav pit,

“Once Agraky had been returned to the head of Helios, fingers began pointing… Euros took the beating. He was outcast by Zachres for accusing his children of such a thing. The blind bastard.”

“And now? Does he remain in exile?”

Anatoli looked to me with a voice that held back as much emotion as he could muster,

“Not only this, but all of his family. His brothers, father. Those of the sky could no longer be trusted. We are now for eternity separated from Griadar…”

I nodded as if I understood. I didn’t. How could I?

“Euros runs now from Simakar. He tires.”

Simakar. I knew little of the Guardian. He was meant serve Thanatos and Zachres, trapping souls in the underworld. He was vengeance. The brother of Annihilation, dare I not think his name.

Dinner ended in time with the story.

On most nights one of the spirits would guide me to my room. Pholero would take my hand and guide me or I would navigate on my own, creating my own path. Sometimes I got lost. And sometimes I got lost on purpose. The walls were never ending apart from the various gardens that allowed my view of the sunless sky. I longed to see, and what a funny thing that was. For the first time in my life I wished to feel Helios and his warmth.

On this night, however, Anatoli had walked me through the halls. He was tense and I knew it was because of my questions. And because of this, I kept quiet. I was old enough to know that silence had its place. But there was a lack of care and this lack freed my thoughts from my lips,

“You will tell me eventually,”

He who walked ahead of me made no move to glance behind,

“I must know, Anatoli. There is something you are not telling me.” 

“You know all you must!”

It was a firm resignation, set on applying my blindness as his ordinance. It stung. How could ignorance be in my best interest? 

“If you care for me you will return me to the Unnum; you and I know it is the will of the Universe. The souls of men cannot remain in the Aether. Not without being consumed.” 

He didn’t respond. I had struck a chord. 

Once I reached my room he opened door, holding a out a hand as a gesture for me to walk forward. As I walked into the room, up to my bed, he addressed me under the great tension. Or, at least he wanted to, tried to with the whisper of my name. I turned to look at his face, smooth like marble, but he was gone. It frustrated me and I let out a huff of hot breath. 

You know all you must

I know only what you wish. 

I was angry and I wanted to scream. Not desiring the unwanted attention it would provoke, I withheld. I walked out of my room in a quiet manner, hoping to lose myself. It didn’t take long. Before I knew It I was somewhere entirely new, unseen by another human. At least not any I knew of. I wondered if Edwin would have liked it here. Would he find himself wandering the unknown himself? Would he have found the same desire to bite into the flesh of the fig? It didn’t matter. And yet, somewhere inside it did. Because I could still hear him in my mind. In my dreams. 

Then, when I had become certain that I had become unfindable, so completely and utterly off track that I would never find my way back, the hall opened. I had returned to the entryway of the palace. White and grey with impossibly curved arches, vaulted ceiling that touched the sky, and at the end of the room, the door that lead to my home. 

Home. Without those I loved, could such a place even exist? Could the world really be mine? Perhaps not. It was so foolish for me to long for something so far gone. But I did, nonetheless, and it reminded me of earlier, replaying the words in my head to be turned over and over. I could not stay in the Aether or I would surely die. Would it be long? Drawn out as my limbs lost their strength as the light of my soul dwindled? For if I did not I would face the same fate on the Unnum. Only, the ways in which I might die were greater in number. Here it was only…

The door. 

And whether it was truly what was right or wrong I didn’t care. Not a piece of my soul cared for anything than the void. Even if I would come to regret it so.

So I walked forward on bare feet, flesh and heat no longer stinging as it did whenever I first touched them to the cold floor. Infact, I felt nothing. Nothing at all, nothing to offer. So as the same flesh of my fingers wrapped around the handle of the door, I felt just that. And as I pulled it open, pushed my body into the unknown, the sky fell upon me.


End file.
